You've Not Yet Left
by letsplaypretend
Summary: Fighting destiny is never a good idea - and so, then, why do so many try all the same? A series of 750 word drabbles of an unlikely pair making their way through life. Constantly updated, though it is also constantly complete. Lavender/Draco, others.
1. The Color of the Sea

**__**I.

**_the color of the sea._**

_"To reach a port we must set sail –  
Sail, not tie at anchor  
Sail, not drift."_

_- fdr._

* * *

Her eyes are the color of the sea at dawn, he thinks, and he trails a long-fingered hand over her belly drowsily, enjoying the warmth that emanates from the skin; tanned skin, their trips to the beach have ensured that, and he is able to ignore the sharp marks that mar what would otherwise be perfection.

She's shy about them, but he is not - his lips have tasted them until he thinks he is drowning in them, his eyes have drunk them in until he cannot breathe; and he thinks that he probably knows almost every aspect of her better than anyone else could ever begin to expect to. That's the way it should be, too, and his hand tightens on the far end of a mostly-muscled abdomen, possessive lust lingering in every trail of the movement.

Lavender stirs, blinking her eyes open - the color of the sea at dawn, really, and he knows that it's true because they've watched the sunrise more times than he can count; she, cuddled against his chest, and he is holding her, and there's nothing he would rather do with his time - and smiles when she realizes what he's doing, coral lips pulling upward.

He's always struggled to put what she is to him in to words, but maybe the best way is that she's the ocean - her eyes are the color of the sea at dawn, it works, doesn't it? And her cheeks are like a shark's fin, but sharper; her body screams _Siren_, and sometimes makes him, too; and her eyes, of course.

He's always had a thing for eyes.

"Hi," she breathes, and her words fan out into the space between them - not much, just enough to make him think that maybe it's too much still - and he grins, too, watching the play of the sun whisper against her skin.

"Hi."

Lavender blinks. "What time is it?"

"You don't need to worry about that," he replies, and lets his head fall, just a little, so that his nose is only barely running along her stomach, watching in fascination as the skin tightens, almost like she's afraid of him - but not, because she says that on a daily basis. She isn't afraid of him.

It's like salvation, sort of.

"What are you doing?"

His eyes turn to her, meeting her gaze - the color of the sea is darkening, now, and he knows why, and revels in the fact that he has the power to do it; not many do, anymore, not like this, anyway, and that's all he really wants - and his grin widens into a smirk, but he doesn't answer. It's not like she doesn't know.

Lips brush against her skin, now, not just his nose, and he finally knows her again - faintly, faintly is the almost-taste of salt; like she rolled through the ocean and then came home and slept, so that it is _almost gone but not quite_. "Lavender," he breathes, and can't stop the low curling in his gut of something that is more than lust and less than love, and that's not what she deserves, but it's what he can give.

There are more than one way for scars to be shown in the world, and hers might cover her face and her body (he doesn't see them anyway), but his are over his heart - and even eyes the color of the sea cannot hope to help him realize that scars fade but love never does.

The woman shifts under him, and blonde hair does, too, glinting in the light of the sun that is slowly brightening - so slowly, just like this, and his blood moves sluggishly, too, but his heart never has; it races like it is fighting for a spot at the finish line, but he isn't sure what the prize is, just yet. "Don't make pro - " she gasps when his tongue flicks out - "'mises you can't keep. Promises. _Damn_ it."

This time, it is his teeth that graze against her skin, and the satisfaction that dances through his body like adrenaline is solely based on the low sound that she makes - it scurries through him, and it feels like every nerve in his body is on fire and he is okay with that.

Her hands tug at his shoulders, he doesn't resist - and now he's up with her, half resting on her and half not, and their lips clash first, and then their teeth, and then tongues, and this is probably what heaven's like.

And when he loses himself in her - again, he isn't sure how many this makes because he's lost count - he would have sworn that he could hear the sea roaring in approval in his ears, pounding, pounding, pounding with his heartbeat. It's natural. This. Them. He can't think straight anymore, but he's almost sure that it's the sea and that's all he needs to know because now he's lost.

(It says something that he doesn't care he is, but he doesn't know what.)

* * *

**I might possibly have an obsession with Lavender. Also with the male, and with the possible ship of this, and there might possibly be more coming. There might possibly be more of my other chaptered fic, as well, for anyone (if anyone is) who is following that.**

**Taking the time to review would make me happy, but I just hope you enjoyed it.**


	2. Tainted Angels

II.

**Tainted Angels**

_****"The truth, as much as people acted like _

_they wanted to hear it, was _

_sometimes too cruel and harsh."_

_- laura kreitzer._

* * *

She was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she wasn't, as the woman in front of her would have preferred - because gray eyes left no doubt to be seen that she was horribly, distantly disapproving of the blonde who sat on the opposite couch, and Lavender could think only of the blood that raced through her veins. It was faster than normal, keeping time with her heart.

It was a boom, boom, pounding sensation that started somewhere behind her rib cage and reverberated throughout her entire body, and it was not good enough for the woman in front of her. It would never be good enough, because you couldn't clean blood - you could only do better actions, better things, but it was like the past.

You couldn't change the past, either.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I - " She started, but didn't get far.

"Please." The almost-silver blonde interrupted. "Call me Narcissa."

Lavender swallowed. Hard. "Narcissa." It would have been easier if the normal manners behind the words were there - but there was little doubt in her mind that the woman was saying it so as to keep up with what was demanded of her, and not what she wanted. "I wanted to thank you for having me in your home."

The words were as stiffly formal as the nod that greeted her. "You are welcome, Ms. Brown."

"Please, Lavender."

Gray eyes were haughtier than ever. "Ms. Brown. My son might have decided that he liked you, but I have yet to do so, and until this point..."

Though she trailed off, the implications were still clear, and Lavender nodded. "I understand."

Something that could have been amusement flitted across the aristocratic features of the other's face. "Do you?"

Instead of answering, she looked around the room, allowing her silence to say what she never could - that the ornate, silver accents to a room so cold of emotion but full of wealth it seemed to drown her would never be the sort of person she was. She lived in a flat with her boyfriend, where their bed was just big enough for the two of them and the furniture was wood that looked golden. It wasn't mahogany. She didn't own any mahogany.

Lavender had never been a fan of mahogany, and in this room, it was everywhere: from the carved claws on the feet of the chairs and sofas to the wooden end tables, the room was red and silver, and she could almost taste the money.

She met Narcissa's gaze once more. "Maybe not. But I am trying."

The lady lifted her brows. "What does that matter to me?" Narcissa leaned forward. "You are dating my son. You could be leading him on, for all I know - " an elegant hand rose to stop Lavender's interjection. "No interruptions, please."

It rankled, that even the 'please' was so horribly delicate. She would never be such a lady as this.

"And even if you are not, love almost inevitably leads to heartache. That is in its nature." Her gaze strengthened. "It would be easier for him in the long run to accept the arranged marriage and keep you as a mistress."

It doesn't seem to matter how much she tries, but the shiver that runs down her spine, chilling the dirty blood in her veins, is apparent. She would be a whore, that is what Narcissa isn't bothering to mention, and she cannot love Draco, because he is Pure and she is not.

She wants to scream.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Narcissa."

Even pursed lips don't stop the bright articulation of the words that smash against the glittering dreams she's built up. "I'm sure you are, Ms. Brown." The grey eyes sweep over her again, as they did when she first arrived - at Narcissa's request for tea, to meet 'the girl my son has spoken so highly of,' and why hadn't she realized that this wasn't going to go the way she wanted it to?

Lavender sinks back against the too-full cushions of the couch and wishes that she could melt away.

"Is there anything I could do?" The words are a pitiful attempt at sounding as removed as Narcissa does just then, and are so transparent as to be almost disgusting - even she can hear the hope in the syllables.

And it is not without a degree of kindness that her response comes back - Narcissa even does her the favor of considering it, as though there will ever be a change. "You will never be a Pureblood, Ms. Brown."

Lavender dips her head. "So, no."

It's not really a question, and anyway, the bright - almost, is it approval? - emotion in Narcissa's eyes confirms her initial suspicion.

She will never be good enough. Not for Draco. For someone else, maybe - someone who is equally as tainted as she is, and she takes another sip of her tea, the faintest of shaking in her hand translating to a chime from the china as it touches back on the saucer.

"Alright, then."

There's nothing she can do. And that, somehow, gives more reassurance than if she had ever been told that yes, she could at some point down the road be good enough. At least it is concrete.

* * *

**I'm doing some seven hundred and fifty word challenge idea, and as of right now, Draco and Lavender have taken over my head - though mostly Lavender. She's quite the interesting specimen, isn't she? I would love to hear your thoughts. **


End file.
